


Office Jobs

by mystiri1



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Bondage, Community: video_game_yaoi, Hand Job, M/M, Public Sex, Ties, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tseng might wear a suit and tie, but he's no corporate drone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Jobs

It’s the third time he’s been sent out on a mission with Zack, now. The young SOLDIER is friendly, gregarious, and often speaks before thinking. The latter is something Tseng trained himself out of years ago. No Turk can afford to speak without considering fully the consequences, although some – like a certain redhead – deliberately court reactions.

The truth is that no ShinRa employee can afford that luxury. But somehow Zack has avoided learning that lesson; Tseng can count on the fingers of one hand the times he’s seen the teenager actually bite back one of his outrageous comments, and it’s usually obvious enough what he was about to say he might as well not even have attempted it.

There’s just something so open and honest about Zack, and he finds himself liking the boy even though he knows there is no point to such a feeling. Enough that even while he enjoys the novelty of honest company, he wants to tell the SOLDIER that if he wants to survive around here, he needs to start being less honest and more cautious.

And the reasons for his misgivings are clearly illustrated when Zack makes an offhand remark, a little bit derogatory and mostly in fun, about never being able to do a job where he had to wear a suit and tie all day.

There are a dozen reasons flitting through his head as he comes to a standstill in the middle of the corridor: Zack shouldn’t so casually dismiss what it means to be a Turk; the boy should be more cautious about what he says and where he says it; there's a touch of affronted pride because it’s not like he’s one of those overweight paper-pushers from accounting; and dammit, the boy needs to _learn_. But it’s something more basic that has one finger hooking in the knot of his tie, tugging it loose. Zack is young, attractive, personable, and he’s stopped, too, turned back to see what is holding him up. And those eyes, warm brown with the blue mako sheen turning them an almost violet shade, have fixed on the finger, the slowly loosening tie, with an intensity that says he senses it, too.

Tseng knows he’s fast. He’s had years of martial arts training, followed by years of being a Turk. That’s not to say that a SOLDIER of Zack’s calibre couldn’t have avoided him as he darts forward, the tie looping first about one wrist, then the other as his body shoulders the boy back against the wall. It’s mostly surprise and a lack of resistance that allows him to get away with it. There’s a solid thump as Zack’s shoulders hit the blank grey wall. There are offices along here, little grey boxes lining the long grey corridor, but nobody ventures out at the noise. ShinRa is a company that discourages curiosity, on the whole. But the thought that somebody could come along and see them like this adds a delighted predatory edge to Tseng’s smile. After all, this is ShinRa, and he is a Turk.

Zack’s bound wrists are pushed up over his head, Tseng’s body pressed close. Those violet-tinted eyes are wide, a little shocked. But there’s no anger in them. “You know I could break free of this,” he says, his voice sounding just a bit uncertain, lacking in its usual confidence.

Tseng shifts, a move that presses him up just a little bit more firmly against Zack’s groin, and hears the sudden catch of breath. Zack’s still a teenager, with a teenage boy’s reactions to certain things. The mako only increases that drive, encouraging aggression as it does. Not that Zack wants to fight this. Tseng’s watched him in action. Zack has a weakness for the beautiful, the dangerous, and the exotic. And while he hesitates to class himself as beautiful, he certainly fits the latter two categories.

“You could,” he agrees, “but you won’t.” He says it with all the firmness of one accustomed to command, and can feel Zack respond to that authority. The boy doesn’t relax so much as he suddenly seems to be waiting, ready for whatever will follow. Not submissive – he has too much energy, too forceful a personality for that – but expectant.

“If you did,” Tseng continues, moving back just a little and feeling satisfied at the flicker of disappointment the move brings, “I would have to punish you for destroying ShinRa property.”

“It’s just a tie,” Zack breathes as Tseng’s fingers begin to undo his belt, the other hand still keeping his hands pinned above his head.

“It is the tie worn by a Turk,” Tseng corrected, working the buckle free, and moving onto the buttons and zipper beneath. “And Turks are owned by ShinRa.” His hand is inside now, cupping hot flesh, tugging it free.

“You - ah – work for ShinRa,” Zack disagrees.

Tseng shakes his head. “No. I _am_ a Turk. Just as you are a SOLDIER. It is not just a job, and you should know that.” Zack’s cock is between them, and anybody could come along and see them, Tseng’s hand working at the hard length with quick, firm strokes. Could see the SOLDIER ‘pinned’ against the wall, all too willing, hips rocking as a hard-eyed Turk jerks him off in the middle of the Supplies  & Requisitions Department. “But at the end of the day, I can go home, take off the suit and tie, and pretend for a few hours that I am free.”

He can see the slight glaze in those eyes, the hitched breath, and knows that Zack is close. Another advantage of youth. He steps back a little more to protect his suit, angles that thick, reddened cock closer. His fingers tighten, and he strokes upwards, hard. Zack comes with a loud cry, hot liquid spilling over Tseng’s hand, and shooting up onto the uniform vest the SOLDIER wears.

“At the end of the day,” Tseng repeats, lifting his hand, “I can remove the mark of ownership and pretend it doesn’t exist.” The sticky fluid that coats his hand is not quite white; it hold the faintest blue tinge, and seems to almost glow. This is the reason they do their best to hammer the concept of safe sex into all the recruits; never mind the hefty population of prostitutes and brothels below-plate. The mako that flows through a SOLDIER’s veins, mako owned by ShinRa, can be dangerous to the unexposed. He holds it up between them, waiting for Zack’s eyes to focus. “You carry your mark with you always.”

He licks at it, feels the warning tingle on the tip of his tongue. Zack’s gaze fixes on his mouth with a slight whimper.

Tseng holds his hand closer. “Lick,” he orders, and feels his own breath catch as Zack complies with an eager thoroughness, tongue sliding between his fingers with sensual abandon. He even sucks several digits into his mouth, an unspoken invitation for more, and it’s with reluctance that Tseng pulls them away, moving to undo the tie that binds him.

Tseng fastens it once more around his neck, noting that it is slightly crumpled. He should return to his office for a new one; he takes pride in his professional appearance, because a Turk is much more than just a thug in a suit. And Zack will need to change before their mission as well, his uniform decorated with the fruits of Tseng’s labours.

Apart from the tie, his own uniform is pristine; the suit jacket even hides the erection that tents the front of his pants. Tseng is hard, and desperately wants to take Zack up on the offer he’s made, but he doesn’t show it. They have a mission to carry out, and there will be later opportunities to see just how much the SOLDIER is willing to give.

And Tseng knows well the value of restraint.


End file.
